


Incense and Mirth

by KuVhalla



Series: Tassel [2]
Category: The Dark Crystal (1982), The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance (TV)
Genre: Blood, Blow Job, Cutting, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hand Job, Knifeplay, NSFW, Other, Physical Abuse, Poisoning, Porn With Plot, Scratching, Sexual Abuse, Slapping, Smut, This is not pretty, a lot of plot actually, canon short skeksis, dubcon, gelfling die here but it's not explicit, so do podlings, very close to noncon that's why the warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:34:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27565351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuVhalla/pseuds/KuVhalla
Summary: The castle of the Crystal is crowded with festivities; since the Lord Chamberlain is busy, you try to find someone to satisfy your curiosity about Thra and the Ritual Master comes to mind....That is one mistake you will never make again.The Chamberlain gets his revenge.
Relationships: skekSil (Dark Crystal)/Reader, skekZok (Dark Crystal)/Reader
Series: Tassel [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2008813
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23





	Incense and Mirth

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't checked the tags in this fic, do it now. This is a dark one, alright? Please be careful if you could be triggered by the stuff I wrote here. If you haven't, I will repeat them here again:
> 
> Trigger Warning: Blood  
> Trigger Warning: Dub-con  
> Trigger Warning: Non-con  
> Trigger Warning: Physical abuse  
> Trigger Warning: Sexual abuse  
> Trigger Warning: Slapping  
> Trigger Warning: Detailed descriptions of violence
> 
> Please, please take care of yourself!

The monotony in the castle of the Crystal was undeniable, the same gelfling guards doing the same rounds, the same ten old skeksis each focusing on their own avocation and hardly swapping routines… One could say the podling chambers was where most of the energy concentrated.

As much as the lords enjoyed routine, used to it after so many centuries, things were getting a bit too redundant, often heatedly arguing with each other over the most menial of things just to spice things up. Even for you, too busy trying to acclimate to the everchanging Thra despite how long it had been since your accidental arrival, were growing restless. Incorporating regular festivities would only enhance that numbness that permeated the hallways, and while the many dates gelfling often celebrated were already incorporated in the castle life, they too had become quotidian –the first snow, the first bloom, the hottest and coldest day of the season… They were a race that lived at nature’s pace.

However, among the rocky walls of the castle, where the changes were hardly noticed, that joy had quickly turned into more of the same: a feast, music, alcohol and some decorations that looked different but somehow turned into the accustomed display once hung on the walls.

Restless minds had the unhealthy tendency of becoming too proactive and _dangerous_ , the Emperor knew, and he played his subjects’ discomfort by ear, creating new one-time events to celebrate at unpredictable times, requesting particular meals or assigning tasks to skeksis who weren’t used to them, far from their specialities, to keep the shrieking bunch on their toes. Busy minds didn’t scheme.

You had at first enjoyed the Emperor’s imagination, admiring his intelligence and resourcefulness; SkekSo was exceedingly good with words, his deep voice practiced with exuberant speeches easily finding the words that would make his brethren cheer in excitement and get on their feet to fulfil his wishes for the season with frightening ease. Often he paired his enthusiasm with other events, sending arbitrary skeksis to do his bidding somewhere outside of the castle –perhaps tithing, or surveying certain projects _he just couldn’t trust_ gelfling to get right. One way or another, the missing skeksis, angry to be unable to attend the festivities, would wait even more eagerly for the following ones, and the Emperor would start the same proceeding again, keeping the wheel spinning however he pleased.

As much of an obvious charade as it was, the skeksis faithfully stuck to what was expected from them. Sometimes, the ones who crashed the most were forced to force an alliance –SkekSo had a lot of fun seeing the Gourmand and the Scientist argue, only for the Ornamentalist to join the squabble, and then someone said something, and suddenly the Collector was in there too, spluttering indignantly and spreading mucus everywhere…

There was a specific group of them, which almost always included the Scientist, the Chamberlain, the Ritual Master and the Emperor himself, who hardly left the castle, more inclined towards the intellectual part of the planning or just too busy completing other demands from the Emperor to be risked outside in the wilderness of Thra, as was SkekTek’s case.

Something granted was the remaining ones’ love for butting heads with each other, surreptitiously climbing and deceiving and fighting to become the opinion the ruler most favoured. As composed and pragmatical as the Ritual Master was, the Chamberlain was the one victorious this last time –something about collecting particular products from the Sifa gelfling clan, a delicate operation that would need his attention and, of course, the Emperor’s. Subsequently, you had seen less and less of SkekSil as time went on, him being too busy to pay you any mind; some days you would arrive to the quarters and find him already asleep, others he wouldn’t show up at all – in both cases, it felt off to just join him on the bed without his explicit permission, and you had returned to sleeping on your pile of cushions without making a fuss.

But you were curious about the world around you, dammit, and it was eating you from the inside! Until now the Chamberlain was your only source of information about Thra –you wouldn’t dare ask the Emperor, the Scroll Keeper was too put off with your presence and often mocked you by offering documents you clearly couldn’t read, and you didn’t even consider asking the fidgety, anxious Scientist– and, in truth, you were getting tired of not knowing things.

You had to find another skeksis to sate your brain with their knowledge, and it was then when you started to mull over, _maybe_ , approaching the Ritual Master.

The lord inhabitants of the castle were loudly vocal about their opinion of you –many welcomed the distraction, many didn’t as well, and some of them tolerated you for practicality’s sake– but the tall skeksis had never approached you or otherwise shown public disapproval over your existence. To be fair, with how things worked in the castle, that was much of an incentive as you were going to get. 

One day, early in the morning and right after you had been dismissed from the Emperor’s court, your duties unnecessary in lieu of the Chamberlain taking over and reporting you-didn’t-know-what in regards of the new event coming up, you decided to wait a few halls over for SkekZok to take his leave, seeing that his role wasn’t required for this particular part of the planning and encouraged by the ruler to continue with his daily activities unbothered.

As you thought he would, the wheezing Ritual Master took notice of you in the hall, right in his way but respectfully waiting to the side, his blue eyes blinking once in recognition, and then continued his path leisurely, brushing your presence off like water slides off a duck.

You weren’t having that.

“Lord Ritual Master, my Lord,” you bowed when he reached you, forcing him to stop his steps, “a moment of your valuable time, if you would?”

Skeksis weren’t weak to politeness and neither did they cave in under it, too accustomed to the gelfling adoration to consider it anything less than granted; however, something you had discovered was the Ritual Master’s partiality for sober grace, often making use of manners whether the situation asked for it or not. Unperturbable but versatile, you could call it, quickly adapting through the same infallible strategy to suit his needs. It was different to what you were used when dealing with the Chamberlain, but effective, nonetheless.

Still, a sucker of pomp and ceremony as the Ritual Master was, you knew he would at the very least give you his attention for a brief moment, which would suffice you to bait his interest. “What is it that you require, creature?”

Oh, obviously the tallest of the small skeksis wouldn’t be happy about having to look up at your face. You bowed again, deeper this time. “I have… questions, my Lord. Ones other lords would not know the answer to, referring to not so mundane things. I have always wanted to discover and marvel, my Lord… And I thought you, as Ritual Master of the skeksis, would perhaps accommodate my curiosity. There’s more to Thra than what meets the eye, I believe.”

The Ritual Master observed you with great attention, his long arms pleasantly resting over his lush golden robes, his curved beak humming thoughtfully despite his laboured breathing. Unlike most skeksis, SkekZok was notoriously bony, his face all sharp angles and yellowish fangs that screamed sourness. There was a dangerous edge in his soft voice when he spoke. “Doesn’t the Chamberlain entertain you anymore, I wonder? I see your keeper is too busy to play with you in these officious times.”

“I am but the Emperor’s pet-”

“I’ve heard that one before. If it’s your lack of wits what you are showcasing, know I am not interested.”

Then you started asking your questions, as humbly as you could, fearing he would leave you hanging in that hallway. About their faith, their culture, their rituals, the evolution of them through the ages, if there had been any. And you succeeded at picking the Ritual Master’s interest, his brow raising expectantly, and you were rewarded with another inquisitive look and a motion to follow.

It was only a few halls down, as he briefly indulged you with detailed explanation, when you were forced to stop your walk. In front of him were large doors covered in silver, gold and red intricate carvings, several nooks in the wood adorned with glowing gemstones; beyond them you could hear music and faint talking, the high voices gelfling in nature. The smell of incense was _strong_.

“My Lord-”

“Come find me in the morrow,” he ordered you, his long fingers coiling around one of the doors’ metal handles, “and if you make a convincing case I will answer one of your questions. Now make haste of yourself, a place of worship like this is hardly where your kind should linger.”

* * *

For a week you followed the same pattern, being dismissed by the Emperor and the Chamberlain in the early morning and awaiting in the halls until the Ritual Master was given his leave; then you accompanied him to the ostentatious doors, the Chamber of Prayers hidden behind them, some days prolonging the way through the labyrinth of corridors if the question you had asked him that time entertained SkekZok enough to indulge you with a longer, even more detailed answer.

As every skeksis you had talked to, the Ritual Master had an ardent love for the sound of his own voice, and while you were used to the Chamberlain tricking you into complimenting him, SkekZok was one certain enough of his own value to sing his own praises.

“I have no interest for the world of politics,” he affirmed one day, the iridescent shine of his golden robes blinding in the stillness of the day, “ it’s so susceptible to the volatile nature of flickering opinions –and our Emperor shall rule un to the end of times, for all that matters–; I find greater a comfort in the complexity of the spiritual, in the inalterable order of the ceremonies and their sacrality.”

“But how-?”

“I believe you already asked your question today, haven’t you?” the Ritual Master cut you with cold smugness. “Save it for the next occasion or find an answer on your own, creature.”

He waved at you to disappear and so you did, raging at the damned pair of doors that kept his secrets from you. The Ritual Master had not shared with you the basics or the purposes for his craft, only the most simple of the symbolisms in the elements he used, and only if you worded your question neatly enough he couldn’t get away with a curt yes or no. SkekZok had, however, asked plenty about you, your home planet and its customs, and he had corrected many of your vices that were inappropriate on Thra, and more specially, at the Emperor’s court; the Ritual Master, undoubtedly, considered them rituals of the daily life, and as such they were to be performed correctly or not at all.

“Standing behind him it’s barbaric considering your size! A looming threat is what you look like, creeping above him from the shadows. He’s the Emperor, even when he’s not looking at you, you must kneel in this presence.”

You had done so the following day, surprising the few members of the court so much the Chamberlain had interrupted his speech, gawking you with unease; the Emperor had done as much, twisting on his ornated throne to look at you, for the first time since your arrival on the planet, with something akin to satisfaction.

“Finally learning, I see,” had mussed the old ruler, nodding his beak approvingly at your now smaller figure. SkekSo hummed and left a condescending pat on your head, an appraisal befitting to your position. “At last. There might be hope for you yet.”

The Ritual Master had smiled petulantly at the Chamberlain’s irked glare, and for the first time in a fortnight you had caught SkekSil awake and waiting for you in his private quarters, looking just as peeved as he had done in the morning.

“Learning many things from the Ritual Master lately, hmm?”

You had immediately felt the sweetly sharp edge in his voice and bowed to him in submission. “I have been keeping him company, since the Lord Chamberlain is occupied-”

“It’s not the Chamberlain’s duty to entertain you, I must serve the Emperor. Plenty of opportunities will come, many roles to fulfil, many preparations to ready. If the human is so needy for company then she shall spend her days in kitchen assisting podlings.”

“The Ritual Master is not bothered with me, my Lord, while the Gourmand does dislike me greatly; with the Lord Ornamentalist away he won’t tolerate me near the kitchens,” you protested, and then knelt in front of him to soothe the storm you could see forming behind his eyes. “I am learning much from the Ritual Master, my Lord, but in the end, am I not the Chamberlain’s responsibility? The Emperor’s knows this, anything I finally do right can only reflect good on you, Lord SkekSo cares not for the source of my education. And the Ritual Master is secretive, there’s many things he’s yet to tell me, things the Chamberlain himself may not know. Things he could use to outweigh Lord SkekZok if he tried to surpass him.”

There was a seething glare from the Chamberlain again, and he let out a long hum in response to your gait. You knew he was weighting his choices, considering how much of what you had told and promised him was the truth and how much was just mere persuasion –what a grief, that you had learnt how to play the game–, how likely was for you to lie to _him_. Would you risk it, his rage? There were very few instances where he could see your betrayal, but only if the benefits you got from it –the protection– surpassed the reach of his anger. Currently, it was only the Emperor who could grant you that protection, his possessiveness over his toy, but SkekSo didn’t favour you and you didn’t like him very much either. The Ritual Master, as influential as he had been many centuries ago, was now a shadow of the past, with no weight to pull in court other than to hold his meaningless ceremonies. And you had given yourself so freely, so _willingly_ , too.

You waited for the verdict, unmoving, until he pointed a sharp talon to your pile of cushions, his beak adorned with a sly, toothy smile. SkekSil was appeased, but your misdeeds were not to be forgotten, even in the discipline you got from it was mild.

“Human sleeps on the floor tonight, that’s her punishment for distracting the Chamberlain from his very demanding obligations.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

* * *

The festivities came and left, lasting three whole days of feasting and drinking. The skeksis rolled in their own praises as if it were the first snow of the season, singing merrily to feats long gone or that had never happened –a recurrent point made by the Scroll Keeper, who was efficiently silenced after the Gourmand shoved a goblet of berry wine at him and suggested a drinking challenge. You had had questions about how a creature without lips could chug anything –the answer was, they couldn’t; the Lords of the Crystal just opened their beaks wide as they would go and poured the alcohol down, as much of it as would go in without them choking, and then fished for a new drink.

The first day you had been instructed to keep the nosy gelfling out and the wine-bearing podlings coming, and you suspected the Emperor didn’t want you around his brethren when they were so shamelessly drunk, so defenceless –but then again, they didn’t care for podlings enough for that to be a problem. Subsequently, you had volunteered to carry your lords back to their private chambers once they were done partying for the day; sometimes the Emperor hollered you in to pick the skeksis in question up, other times you had to fetch them as they tried to exit the hall on their own, stumbling over their long robes and their clumsy legs.

None but the Chamberlain, who was expected to stay at least until the Emperor left and had the unspoken duty to match SkekSo’s every goblet so he wouldn’t drink alone, turned out to be a clingy drunk, and you were extremely glad the hallways were empty when you dragged him back to his quarters, SkekSil pawing, groping and cooing at you all the way, hissing insults against the Ritual Master being greedy, wanting for what was not his to want and other gibberish of the same nature.

While the Chamberlain’s show of possessiveness and jealousy did little to impress or surprise you, it at least became the most entertaining part of your days since you weren’t allowed to partake in the celebrations, and couldn’t indulge in the particular menu the Gourmand had designed for such an occasion –instead, you were given some sort of earthy flavoured, thick porridge even the gelfling scowled in disgust at.

You weren’t happy about it, but what is a servant to say?

After the routine was reinstated and so were your duties, your walks with the Ritual Master became sporadic, as the Emperor found a new joy in showing you off to whatever gelfling visitor happened to be by the castle –on one occasion, the All-Maudra herself had showed up, ensuing another round of exuberant feasting you were still _not_ allowed to join, this time forced not to guard the doors but to stay behind the throne for the whole night, hungry and motionless for the Vapran queen to observe and admire.

Eventually, with a bit of wise wording from the Chamberlain, who excused you from joining him and the Ornamentalist whenever he would demand an evening of attention, you were given a window to seek the Ritual Master, the Chamberlain’s sweet threats ringing in your head.

“Oh SkekSil, do let her stay!” protested the Ornamentalist.

“Private conversations are not to be listened by obtuse ears, yes? Human make haste of herself, go find something of substance to do.”

You found yourself at the ornated doors, a pungent incense smell filtering through the crack between them, and you knocked on the wood, hard. One of them opened, the braided head of a beautiful, blonde gelfling peeking through. They gave you a pointed but meagre look; “yes?”

“I am here to see the Lord Ritual Master.”

“So sorry, but his lordship is unavailable, very busy.”

“I’m certain he’ll kindly spare some minutes of his time to meet me.”

“The Emperor’s pet has no place in a sacred space such as this-”

“Watch your insolence, gelfling,” you interrupted, straightening up, “and go fetch your master. If Lord SkekZok denies me entrance then I shall begone, but not before then.”

 _Entitled little creatures_ , you thought irritated, seeing them quickly disappear behind the door, _a lick of attention from a skeksis and they believe they deserve showers of praise_.

The door opened once more, and there was the Ritual Master, dressed in his usual flamboyant robes, his wheezing more pronounced as a result of the heavily perfumed atmosphere behind him. “I can’t help but wonder if the Chamberlain has freed you from your collar this evening for his convenience or for yours. Be it as it may, you are here now, and with quite a remarkable attitude, I must say.”

“I won’t be stepped over by gelfling, of all creatures, my Lord. You had taught me as much.” The hierarchy in the castle was steely and ruthless, and while your place had been a mystery in the beginning, it was now stablished –above gelfling and podling, clearly below skeksis–, and you were expected to stand up for yourself, as all the Lords of the Crystal did, in the face of adversity or accusations.

The Ritual Master elegantly moved to the side with a rasped breath of approval, giving you access for the first time to what waited behind those ornated doors of his. A chamber with higher, greatly decorated ceilings than what you had seen anywhere else in the castle greeted you, hanging gold thuribles adorning the space at different heights and dripping smoke like dormant dragons; the walls were adorned with colourful shards of glass and silver embellishments that reflected the light of the Three Sisters in blurry rainbows, and there was some sort of hustle and bustle going on. Short podlings dressed in long, whitish robes hurdled together by a wooden grandstand, and you thought them a chorus, perhaps… You _had_ heard their kind sing quite often by the kitchens, their words a galimatias to you, but never in an organized manner. 

What caught your eye was not the chirpy podlings or the many luxurious decorations though, but the gelfling wandering in the room. Unlike the ones you had seen around in the castle, guards or cooks or servants of many ranks, each of them with their assigned clothing to mark their purpose, these were dressed vaporously, with tunics made of fringes tied to their necks and from where their limbs poked out as they moved, a leg here, an arm there, a set of opalescent wings a little bit farther, every visible part of them heavily bejewelled as you had never seen them.

You were immediately on guard, the short hairs at your arms and the nape of your neck bristling in goosebumps.

What you could see of the gelfling, beyond how adorned they were and how adoringly the glanced up at the Ritual Master, their huge eyes full with devotion, was the pale expanse of scars covering whatever skin you could lay your eyes upon. A few of them lacked some phalanges in their fingers, some a toe or two, another one was missing a chunk of her ear… All of them were beautiful like caramelized berries but mauled and abused terribly, noticeable bite marks that curiously matched the Ritual Master’s teeth marring their flesh.

Had you just arrived on Thra, you would think SkekZok a saviour of the gelfling, keeping them from harms way and tending to their wounds, nursing them back into health, which would have justified the reverent way in which they glanced up at him.

You knew better now. The Ritual Master had a gelfling _harem_ , right in the castle, under everyone’s noses.

Yet, whatever he did to the gelfling, they didn’t seem to mind it, buzzing around him like a swarm of stupid bees, always out of his way but never too far, ready to be grabbed as one picks ripe fruit from a tree. The Ritual Master, however, paid them no mind, guiding you through the chamber, a malevolent, knowing glint in his eyes. 

He knew you knew the gelfling mistreatment was his doing, but he wasn’t going to mention it. Neither were you.

* * *

A week later and you hadn’t made any significant discoveries regarding the Ritual Master’s secrets, whatever ridiculous findings you managed being reported to the Chamberlain to see if he could give them better use than you would. What did surprise you was SkekSil’s reaction once you told him about the horde of servants SkekZok had hidden in his magnanimous chamber.

“Ah, they still live, I see. Crowd of little worshipers. Chamberlain thought them long dead, Ritual Master has tendency towards breaking his toys too soon.” The Chamberlain mussed to himself, ignoring the terrified shiver spiralling down your back. “Lord Emperor must know about it too, no use in keeping secrets when playthings have to be fed and clothed- friend Ornamentalist must had _known_ too, yet didn’t say a word to Chamberlain…” 

“Is it adequate for me to frequent the Lord Ritual Master’s presence anymore, my Lord?”

“SkekZok won’t cause you harm, Chamberlain thinks, he can’t risk angering Emperor,” SkekSil nodded, but them hummed carefully as his thoughts caught up with him, “…still could mark you in places robes hide. Perhaps he will, perhaps not. Would he chance angering Chamberlain?”

You hadn’t known how to reply to him.

* * *

The answer was yes.

The Ritual Master was astute, but his devious nature was no match for the Chamberlain’s influence over the castle; far too used to only showing vocal agreement over matters he couldn’t possibly lose, SkekZok refused to defy SkekSil in public, where he was outnumbered and outsmarted, and rather baited you in private, where his words were the only ones you could hear, luring you into a false sense of security. You had been foolish enough not to see this, unfortunately.

There was a chorus practice that night, one both the Ritual Master and the Ornamentalist were meant to assist, to prepare for a new incoming festival – this one being gelfling in nature, not that skeksis cared as long as there was wine to spare. The Chamberlain, who was busy pestering the Scroll Keeper at the time, saw no inconvenience in letting you attend, despite the Ornamentalist not being his in good graces at the time.

A swift warning to stay away from the reach of SkekZok’s talons later, you found yourself back in the ominous Chamber of Prayers, crossing the now familiar doors and welcomed by rows and rows of podlings climbing up the grandstand, arguing among themselves as the Ritual Master pressured them to find their positions. The Ornamentalist, who avoided you quite obviously, likely because of the Chamberlain’s recent disdain, busied himself redirecting the scarred gelfling around, changing different decorations from here and there only to have them relocated back by a very irked SkekZok.

The skeksis started arguing among themselves, shrills meeting biting remarks until the Ornamentalist was too peeved to stay in the room, clamouring about how no one in the castle respected him anymore. The angry scowl in the Ritual Master’s face was quickly swept away under a sombre contempt that froze your blood. Still, the preparations were finished, the gelfling shooed away and you were offered the chair that was meant for the Ornamentalist, the Ritual Master’s glare silencing you into sitting there despite your strong reticence –you hadn’t been allowed to use those seats, ornated and big and meant for _skeksis_.

The practice ensued and you witnessed the podlings gargle and hum and whistle, forbidden from perverting the sacred song they were singing with their filthy language. The Ritual Master was cross, correcting different individuals at different times –it was clear he didn’t know them by name, as he always addresses them as “you, podling! Third row, second from the left!”

You saved your comments about the painful performance, inwardly hoping it would improve by the day of the feast least the podlings wanted an early death, and the Ritual Master didn’t ask for a review from you either. He dispersed the small servants with glares, as if chasing rats, and then waved at you hastily.

“Pick up anything these vermin had forgotten and place them over by the back, by that column,” he rasped, pointing at a pilar that had a metal hook sticking out, “it shall be burned later on. Close the door first, I shall not have more podlings in here tonight. Rueful, revolting beasts!”

You did what you were ordered, sighing to yourself –there would be no questions he would accept from you tonight, which you had hoped for if the practice was successful and lifted his spirits–, but not having to hear the Ornamentalist lamenting himself over the disaster the performance had been and the woeful fate that awaited them both if it were to repeat itself the signalled night was a relief you were deeply grateful for.

When you turned around, you could have expected many things, but the Ritual Master holding a sword as long as your arm was not one of them.

SkekZok gestured nonchalantly towards one of the walls covered in luxurious tapestries of gold and red, opposite to the windows and the farthest from the door, almost hidden from sight by the grandstand. “On your knees, if you would.”

“My Lord-” you stuttered, the notion of him being armed and almost the same size of you hitting you at once. Your hands started to sweat, a shiver grabbing you from the nape of your neck down your back. You should have listened to the Chamberlain, damn it, you should have been more careful-

“I shan’t repeat myself, creature, and I will not be disrespected tonight any further. Do as I tell you and let’s make of this a quick ordeal, shall we?”

The weapon’s edge glowed under the golden chandeliers and you were reminded how fast and volatile skeksis were, how prone to violence and kneejerk reactions… You did as he commanded, kneeling down on the hard, stony floor, hands up with your palms forward to show you were opposing no resistance.

“My Lord-” you tried again, keeping your head bowed but your eyes frightfully locked on the blade. Your hands trembled and the harsh texture from the floor was already hurting your knees, numbing the joints, but you hid your wince, knowing if he wanted to see pain the Ritual Master had ways to make it happen.

SkekZok tutted at you, the tip of the sword dancing in front of your face as he waddled closer, the many beads, jewels and chains on his robes chiming cheerfully with every step. He looked like a golden idol. “You get this one chance to speak and no more, creature, so I advise you use it wisely. One wouldn’t want to find himself forced to employ further methods to achieve your silence.”

You swallowed hurtfully, eyes blown open, your breath quivering. “The Emperor would be choleric if damage was to befall something of his property.”

The Ritual Master slapped you without hesitation, the many rings on his fingers hitting your cheekbone as if they were pebbles, and white filled your vision, your ears ringing horribly. He hadn’t broken skin, but you could already feel the area quickly swelling. “Refrain yourself from using the Emperor’s name for your benefit! He himself has suggested you should be presented as a more imposing servant, I’m certain a few scars would help you achieve that goal speedily. Try again, one last time.”

“The Lord Chamberlain-”

“His protection can’t reach you within these walls, in this sacred space. Furthermore, don’t you be so cocky to think your activities with him had gone unnoticed, oh, no, far from it,” the Ritual Master wheezed, his voice a clamour in the empty and spacious room. “SkekSil thinks himself so sly, invulnerable to those who judge him, what a fool he is! His stench covers yours wherever you go, speaking loudly of the sinful acts you two have performed! A skeksis and a- a _human_ , whatever you may be! Nothing but sacrilegious! Punishing him for such a small fault, as we all are susceptible to lust, would be too excessive,” SkekZok lamented, his voice thick with sorrow, “so you will be the one to replace him.”

In a blatant exercise of shameless hypocrisy, the Ritual Master tangled his free hand in your hair and pulled you forward, slamming your face to his clothed crotch. “Now, I am not one to enforce unreasonable demands, as you have been able to observe during these sessions we shared, neither am I unreasonable myself. It would be a pity to wound you to the point of irreversibleness, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, my-”

SkekZok pushed you away and struck you again, in the same place as before, and you now knew he was choosing the place deliberately, very close to your eye, a surface with bone close underneath, and hardly padded, and very, very visible. The bruise would be on your face for days. Your scream echoed in the room and for that he slapped you a third time, finally breaking the skin, blood trailing down your face. After that you didn’t make another sound, tears pooling in your eyes. The Ritual Master smiled, his beak curling smugly over his many fangs. “A fast learner, but not fast enough. You will only speak when asked to do, is that easier to understand? Speak.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Splendid. Where was I? Ah!” The Ritual Master tapped your cheek with the flat side of the sword, a playful motion that made your stomach churn, and you curled farther into yourself, trying to get away without actually moving from your spot, the uncertainty of what he would do freezing you to the ground. “The ground rules. As per my previous words, I wouldn’t want to damage you beyond what’s acceptable, and thus I consider this,” he shook the sword to further drive his point home, “is a rather exaggerated complement for what plans I have in mind, don’t you agree?”

You nodded, shaking on your knees.

“Yes,” he mussed to himself, not showing his disappointment when you wouldn’t take the bait a third time. “So, I rather toss it away. _However_ , as you must know by now, I am far from defenceless, and pertaining our current circumstances you are to consider the consequences that may come your way if you disobey and leave this room without fulfilling my expectations. It is within your best interests to do as you are told, I believe.”

You nodded again, whimpering, and the Ritual Master observed you carefully for a couple of heartbeats before smirking and throwing the blade to the shadows.

SkekZok untied a few of the layers that covered him from the waist down, the many jewels sewed on the golden fabric clinking with the movement, and gestured at you to put your hands on him. Once you had disrobed him enough to access his groin his claws grabbed your hair again, stilling your motions and forcing you closer to his abdomen. A palm from your face was his frontal vent, slightly dilated and glistening with clear moisture, but none of his cocks were bulging out yet and you were at loss to what you should do to encourage them out, fearing one misstep would grant you another gratuitous smack.

The Ritual Master revelled in your hesitation, and his talons raked evilly across your scalp, dragging more blood and wetting the roots of your hair with it, but he didn’t physically force you forward. “You have already been invited into action, and one would hate to repeat himself.”

You avoided his greedy blue eyes and put your mouth to the slit, palming the skin around it, and your tongue darted out to lick at its edges, its warmth drawing a surprised hiss from the Ritual Master as his vent twitched. If you closed your eyes, ignored the throbbing pain in your head and blocked out the dizzying incense smell, you could pretend it was the Chamberlain standing before you, groaning whimpered encouragements and patting your head with condescending affection as he often did, and not this other skeksis. The illusion vanished quickly as the Ritual Master’s cocks emerged, very different from the picture you had in your mind.

While the Chamberlain’s members were dissimilar, his central cock notoriously girthier and more heavily textured than the siding ones, its flat head shaped like a heart and decorated with many ridges and spikes, the Ritual Master’s were very similar in both thickness and length, of a reddish purple hue and knotless but covered in bumps from the forked tips to the base, their musky smell strong and overpowering at such close distance.

You whimpered, knowing you wouldn’t be able to comfortably suck more than one at the time and dreading the consequences of that incapability –either way, the Ritual Master wouldn’t care.

You didn’t think about it twice, curling the fingers of one hand around the Ritual Master’s middle cock and using the other to grab at his luxurious robes for stability, pumping the warm shaft and trying to find a rhythm slow enough so he wouldn’t suspect how much you wanted him to finish so you could to escape the room. The odds weren’t in your favour, as the ritual Master, unlike the Chamberlain, was not the least aroused by you, his actions driven by his sense of superiority above you and not want, and his cocks refused to harden to a satisfying point.

SkekZok used his free hand, which had been idly keeping some of his robes out of the way or whipping his drooling beak, grabbed at the side of your head, the tips of his long fingers finding firm purchase on the back of your head, by the shell of your ear. With his thumb, he nicked at the soft cartilage, a cut that only helped to bloody the other side of your face. “Is _this_ how you attend to the Chamberlain’s needs? Perhaps his punishment mustn’t be so great if you’re lacking so much. Use your mouth, girl!”

Pushing past the scorching pain on your cheek, you opened your jaw and eased his cock between your lips, wetting its tip with your tongue and applying a gentle suction to it. The Ritual Master appreciated it deeply, his knees bucking with a strong moan. You didn’t dare look up as he wheezed, his hands clasped around your head in an iron lock, and thrusted his hips forward, shoving more of his shaft in your mouth and forcing it against the roof of it; you hadn’t had the time to slack your jaw, his movements catching you off guard, and you trembled, whining in fear of the punishment when his cock dragged against your teeth. Instead, he welcomed the unintentional pain enthusiastically, his cock throbbing on your tongue, the other two that remained resting on your cheeks mimicking the twitching and weeping precum.

You pressed the one inside your mouth against the warm flesh of your inner cheek with your tongue, raising your hands to hold and pump his unattended cocks –to keep them a bit farther from your eyes now that they were hardening, you just didn’t want to think what he could do to you– and spreading his fluids over the bumpy surface, slickening it. The Ritual Master freed his grip on your hair and tapped at the outside of his cock were you had lodged it against your cheek, stopping his light thrusting momentarily to push his shaft further against your teeth, curling onto himself trembling when the sharpest peaks scrapped his sensitive flesh.

He hissed and panted in pleasure, his breath ragged and hi beak slack, as he used every part of your mouth to stimulate himself, eyes hooded. You were sure he didn’t care it was you kneeling between his legs, and whatever fantasy entertained his mind, you didn’t want to know it.

The Chamberlain was very vocal about his pleasure whenever he shared your company, and he had submitted to your handling, indulging your wants and the way you had preferred to satisfy him over his own desires, but the Ritual Master had a character that differed greatly from that indulgence.

Despite his usual calmed demeanour, SkekZok was now brutally taking advantage of his size, almost equal to yours, to bend you to his will, and you had a fleeting thought about how many gelfling bedded him on their own volition and how many hadn’t. Either way, he didn’t seem the type to care about such a mundane thing as consent was. It was a fancy of his to have a plaything that presented themselves docilly to his wants, you mussed, better off if they had a little fire in them so he could break them in until they worshipped the ground where he stood.

The Ritual Master wasn’t compelled to get that reaction from you, you realised, probably because he was repulsed by your very nature. Gelfling, dotting as they were, had a gentle temper, eager to please, and were much smaller in size than skeksis were, which you thought spurred the Ritual Master’s desires of control and power. You, on the other hand, were the physical representation of the opposite: too big, too imposing, too adamant and not tame enough.

SkekZok resumed his thrusting with gritted jaws, pushing his cock inside your mouth until you gagged on it, drool spluttering from your lips as the tip of your nose flushed against his groin, effectively cutting your airflow at the back of your throat. Tears ran down your cheeks, your face reddening from the lack of oxygen. Even when you couldn’t stand it anymore, patting at his thighs and begging for a break, he still wouldn’t bulge, and you fisted his cocks harshly, desperate, squeezing them to the point of pain in hopes the Ritual Master would free you before you passed out.

As big as the battle of wills was, you lost it when he used the hand holding your head to break deep grooves into the shell of your ear, tearing the flesh in an obvious mark of aggression. The Ritual Master let you go when you yelled, openly crying, hands flying to cup your ear and feeling the bloody ridges he had mangled from you with the pads of your fingers, covering your palms and skin with the red of your pain. You sobbed, your breathing ragged, your shoulders shaking, and SkekZok allowed you your sorrow, imperturbable to your weeping.

When you looked at him again, the Ritual Master made a show of reaching inside one of his baggy sleeves, and he extracted and object you had seen often in his hands when in the chamber: an elongated, richly decorated, ceremonial knife. The blade had to be the same size as your whole hand, its edge sharpened so expertly you couldn’t tell where it ended under the chandeliers’ lights. SkekZok tapped his claws with its tip, lightly nicking them, until you rose up on your knees again, cradling the side of your face and your bleeding ear like a wounded wild animal, eyes shot red and nose running.

The Ritual Master then pushed your chin up with the weapon, somehow not slicing your skin. He tapped at your hands with the knife, and you let them fall to your lap defeatedly, allowing him to take in the mess he had made of you.

“Properly mauled, I think,” SkekZok said with great delight, bending to inspect his handwork more closely, “any wild animal on Thra could have done that to you, but it shan’t be too difficult to sear the flesh once again. Scars are the marks of survival, I should know,” and he tapped at the missing piece of his beak. “Now, it does seem like an accident, so I thought we should add a bit to it yet, don’t you agree? The Emperor will be most satisfied when I’m done with you.”

Locking your eyes in his, as if daring you to look away, he pushed he blade to your skin and trailed it down close to the corner of your lips to the tip of your chin; three times he did that, twisting and jerking the weapon to make it seem like abrupt incisions instead of the making of someone who knew his way around knives. You didn’t move, terrified into stillness, your heartbeat pounding in your ears, your skin clammy and cold, your head ringing mercilessly in pain.

When he finished the Ritual Master hid the knife again inside his sleeve, hungrily eyeing the splotches of blood that covered whatever skin of yours he could see, and gestured to his cocks, grabbing two of them in one had and the last one with the other. “Go on, I am hardly done with you.”

Under his cold scrutiny, you forced the two members he offered you into your mouth, opening it as far as it would go, your facial muscles protesting. You sucked him off, fast and harshly, focusing on your numb legs instead of the stretch of your lips and the salty taste of his precum, suctioning and pumping at their base as the Ritual Master stroked his other cock, tapping it against your forehead from time to time and covering your faces with its slickness. The throbbing grew more violent, the flesh of his cocks as hard as it could be as you choked on them, its reddish hue deepening as the Ritual Master inched closer to his peak.

When SkekZok finished, he let go of his cock to hold your head still while he humped your face with abandon, crying out his pleasure with a curse and filling your mouth with his seed. His free member spilled as well, covering your neck and the shoulder of your robes with his come, the milky white thicker and mixing with your dark blood. The flavour of it was disgusting, salty and strong and overpowering, and you heaved, revulsed, and spat it out on the floor, trembling like a leaf. 

Only too late you thought he could take it as an offense of some kind, but no more smacks came your way.

The Ritual Master beckoned you closer and dragged one finger covered in rings over his own come, picking it up, and lewdly smeared it on your face, over the skin he had cut when hitting you and making the wound sting.

SkekZok slapped you one last time, on the other cheek, turning your face to the opposite side and then pushed you away, rearranging his robes and hiding from your sight his softening cocks. His Ritual Master persona, high and untouchable, was again in place.

You didn’t risk moving from where he had thrown you, your hands climbing up to touch your mauled ear, then down to your sore knees, your bruised cheek, your aching jaw, the cuts in your scalp and face. You must have looked like a murder scene, you guessed numbly, greedily taking air into your lungs.

The Ritual Master kicked at your legs, without any ill intent behind the action other than to get your attention. “Get out of here, creature! You are not to spend the night in this sacred chamber, make haste of yourself. Out, out!”

“…Yes, my Lord.”

You got up, joints shaking, and stumbled towards the doors, tripping with your own feet and leaving a trail of dripping blood behind.

* * *

The Chamber of Life was as far from the Ritual Master’s chamber as it could be, faith and science mixing terribly when together; the skeksis who represented both concepts didn’t get along either, as opposite from one another as they could be. You had to go there, to heal yourself, despite knowing fully well you were going to give the squeamish Lord Scientist a heart attack. Regardless, currently you cared little about that, your mind mostly buzzing as if there was a swarm of bees inside. You waddled your way through the castle, dragging your feet over the stony floor, the notion that you just couldn’t show up in the Chamberlain’s quarters a bloody mess the only thought in your head.

 _He wasn’t going to like it_ , you told yourself, not knowing if you were referring to the Chamberlain, the Scientist… perhaps the Emperor, even. It was pure luck that no guards found you as you crossed the shadowed hallways, and you entered the Chamber of Life with little ceremony, its walls glowing under the purplish light that came from the Crystal of Truth.

Once they noticed your presence, the critters inside the many cages surrounding the room started making a ruckus, no doubt alerted by the metallic smell of your blood; some cowered towards the back of their confinements, some pushed the bars of their prisons forward, trying to get you, but you paid them no mind, eyes roaming your surrounding in search of the Scientist with detached discomfort.

There was a podling curled on the floor by a large desk, and a bigger form slumped over it, snoring contently. There was SkekTek, the bags under his closed eyes dark and exhausted; any other day, you would have left the tired skeksis to his dreams, but not tonight. You edged closer to him, ignoring the shrill scream from a fuzzy green creature trapped in a hanging cage, and shook his scrawny shoulder.

The Scientist woke up with a confused yelp, jerking himself upwards and looking around franticly; he let out an honest shriek when he found you, your big human form looming over him, slouching and covered in blood as if you had been attacked by a pack of wild rakkidas.

“I have to go back to the Chamberlain,” you told him with a sliver of voice before he could scream again, wearily showing him your face and your mauled ear, “and I can’t do that looking like _this_. Can you help me, my Lord?”

The Scientist’s eyes bulged out, hands flying to his beak in mute horror. He woke up the podling by his feet with a kick not unlike the one the Ritual Master had given you and yelled something in their language towards the small servant, who glanced up at you, shivered, eyes wide like saucers, and rushed out of the room. The Scientist then hurried you to a gurney carved in stone, and then he realized he wouldn’t be able to reach your head if you sat there; he pointed at his feet, urging you to sit on the floor.

You followed his instructions silently, not caring for his panic or the anxious way in which he paced the room, picking up different tools and dropping them just as quickly, then going over a chest of drawers that seemed full with vials. SkekTek twisted on his toes every few steps, unable to keep his eyes from you. “What on Thra _happened_ to you?”

You didn’t answer his question, too tired to think of anything other than you didn’t know if revealing any information would have consequences; you would have to ask the Chamberlain, maybe, about how trustworthy the Scientist was. You didn’t know, you couldn’t have known. _You were so tired._

_Fuck, what were you going to tell the Chamberlain?_

To your luck, SkekTek himself wasn’t expecting a retort to his horrified question, jumpily scurrying around the room, his limp obvious to the eye but ignored in favour of setting a variety of vials on the gurney behind you, then pausing to watch the doorway, then resuming his frantic walk.

You let the skeksis do his thing, eyes unfocused in front of you, your head pounding painfully as if someone was hammering your cranium from the inside, you ear and the cuts on your chin and cheek still slowly oozing blood. Small but fast steps echoed in the hallway, the same podling as before rushing into the Chamber of Life panting and pointing behind him. The Scientist growled something else in podling and the servant left again, returning hastily with a big bowl of boiling water; a minute later, another set of steps, rushed as the podling’s had been albeit slower, heavier, brought the Chamberlain to the room, looking scruffy and unkempt under his badly arranged robes, as if he had dressed urgently.

“Ah!” gasped the Chamberlain, hurrying towards you and the waiting Scientist. His hands hoovered over your body, but he did not dare touch you, instead turning towards his friend with a grievous scowl. “How did this happen?!”

“Should I heal the human?” asked the Scientist in return, twiddling his hands nervously, “it is your responsibility to deal with it, isn’t that true? What do you want to do with it, now that is damaged-”

“Heal, SkekTek!” interrupted the Chamberlain, avidly looking at the vials the Scientist had prepared, “heal human for friend SkekSil!”

If the Scientist found the request out of place or too odd, he didn’t mention it, grumbling to himself as he immediately got to work, the movements of his hands slow and methodical despite his age as he ignored the pressure of the fretting Chamberlain. He reached over and moistened a rag in the basing the podling had brough, quickly and efficiently cleaning the blood from your skin to reveal the injuries underneath. SkekTek made a low whistle, grimly impressed at your wounds. “There will be marks left, I cannot reconstruct whatever flesh it is missing.”

“Heal!” demanded the Chamberlain in an angry tone, surprising you both when he raised his voice. “You do what you have to do to fix her, the Emperor can’t see her like this! Oh, blood everywhere, all over the place! Bad, bad!”

You sat still as the Scientist dabbed poultices on your cuts and bruises and massaged an oil that got warmed the more he worked it on your abused knees. Getting the blood from your hair to better inspect your scalp was a challenge, and the Chamberlain had to assist him with the task, the Scientist growing nervous with the texture of the strands but too engrossed with his labour to stop to think about how much you disgusted him. He covered the deep cuts he found with another salve as well.

“These will be easier to hide,” he said to no one in particular, eyeing the Chamberlain warily as he made his way back to your side.

“Friend Scientist is very capable,” SkekSil complimented him, gesturing to you to stand up once SkekTek finished applying all treatments he considered necessary, covering the wounds with gauze and shoving an ampoule with more oils into your hands. “Very smart, too; he won’t say a thing about this endeavour to anyone, will he?”

The Scientist bristled up, indignant. “I won’t be to blame for this- for this! If the Emperor asks, I don’t want anything to do with such a mess, Thra!”

“Emperor won’t ask,” assured the Chamberlain, inching closer to the other skeksis, his voice dropping, smooth like venom, “and friend SkekTek won’t say anything either to anyone no matter how he is pressured into sharing, will he? Friends keep each other’s secrets.”

The Scientist grumbled, going pale under the Chamberlain’s scrutiny, and at last relented, nodding and waving the threat away with alarmed composure. “Fine, fine! Nobody respects me here, anyway! Who would ask me!”

* * *

You made the way back to the Chamberlain’s quarters almost without noticing it, trailing after him through the hallways, both of you silent like ghosts. Once the doors were securely closed, the Chamberlain sat on his bed, not needing to ask for explanations; you narrated the evening to him since you had exited that very room, disrobing yourself and throwing the blood soaked clothes into the fire, which filled the room with the stench of burning fabric.

SkekSil stopped you as you redressed, inspecting your body carefully, not with lust but sharp determination in his eyes; when he found no further marking on your skin beyond the ones you had already pointed out, he allowed you to cover yourself, and then ushered you to the bed.

The Chamberlain didn’t hold you, didn’t say any words of comfort to ease you into sleep, and you didn’t ask for them either, willing your mind to quiet itself so you could finally rest; you knew it would take you a very long time to forget this day.

The Chamberlain wouldn’t take such offense lightly either.

The next day, the Emperor made no effort to acknowledge the state you were in, neither did the rest of the skeksis, and life resumed as normal.

Two unum later, the Ritual Master fell dangerously ill. There had been something toxic burning in the thuribles of his sacred chamber, a poisonous smoke that killed all his gelfling and podlings –a bad batch of incense, crafted with the wrong herbs, proclaimed the Scientist– and SkekZok was forced into bedrest for a very long time, his condition so severe many of the Lords of the Cristal believed he wouldn’t make it, thinking the sickness fatal.

The Ritual Master eventually recovered, but his lungs were heavily affected, weakening his body to the point of fragility and making his wheezing breaths, which had been an occasional burden in times of great physical effort, a permanent ordeal.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, please?


End file.
